


how to save a life

by unshakespearean (InimitableLia)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, you decide whether Maria and Eliza are qpps or romantically involved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7482564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InimitableLia/pseuds/unshakespearean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the darkest of times, we find the closest of friends. Maria, Eliza and John learn this together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. break with the ones you followed

**Author's Note:**

> Story title and chapter titles come from "How To Save A Life" by The Fray.

Alexander Hamilton is like fire. Stand too close, and people get burned.

Maria learns this when he leaves for the last time. He claims that it’s wrong, claims that he shouldn’t be unfaithful to his wife and she shouldn’t be unfaithful to her husband, but she knows full well that it’s not that at all, so she calls him on it. His next claim is money. He’s out of money, he says; he can’t continue to pay James; _come on, Maria, we’re both victims of this. He’s been in control the whole time; it’s all been an extortion game. If I could, I would. I wish I could stay. I don’t want to leave you._

 _Then help me get out of here,_ she suggests. _If I’m a victim too, you’d be helping me out of here. You know how James has hurt me over the years._

But that’s when he balks, and Maria knows that the whole time, _she_ was the one being exploited.

Her time with Hamilton was like a high, a ride of ecstasy that seemed to never end. He was there for her, or so it seemed, when James wasn’t. He comforted her. He told her that James was terrible, that he would save her someday, someday, someday, someday, _someday we can take him to court, someday he’ll be in jail, someday you’ll be safe,_ but he never offered to be her lawyer, never offered to waive the fees and actually get her somewhere. Instead he fed her false hopes, fed her lies about how he would protect her.

When they were caught, Maria begged him to play along, thinking he would be able to save her “from the inside,” but he didn’t.

And she knows he’s not out of money. He has money to take trips with his family to visit his sister-in-law in London, has money to continue driving his fancy car and continue living in his damn nice house and continue, continue, continue living the life he’s been living.

What he’s out of is interest, interest in Maria.

But of course, he never really was interested in _Maria;_ just the concept of saving her, and even that was a fleeting prospect. A fantasy to indulge himself upon, to feed his savior complex and his giant ego for a few moments before walking away, taking off into the night before he could face the consequences of anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a few months later, a few miserable months since Hamilton took flight, and Maria is staring at the ceiling in the hotel room, staring at the dingy fan and at the lights and she is crying, knowing that there was never anyone there for her—not James and certainly not Hamilton.

She wishes to be a child again, to go back to being Maria Lewis and to start over. Finish school. Not get into drugs, not be on the streets, not let James sweep in with his savior complex and set her up to fall under Hamilton’s. Maybe go out with a woman instead.

Women aren’t cruel the way men are, she muses. Women don’t fuck you over. Women know the struggle, the pain, the constancy of being beaten down. Women are sisters, and sometimes they can be lovers and be better at it than men. Women are kind.

_That is, when they aren’t turning against you, when they aren’t trying to play into the bullshit notions of purity and trying desperately to prove that they are a better woman than you, not when they are so caught and trapped in the cage of gender roles that they have no choice but to start stabbing each other and you in the back._

She laughs bitterly, wiping a tear away. It’s so easy to sound like a feminist, so easy to talk and talk about… anything, really, but here she is in a hotel room, crying, knowing that she doesn’t have the money to stay here, doesn’t have the money to move out, doesn’t have anyone to take her in, doesn’t have anything but maybe thirty-six hours before she has to go back to James and face the consequences for running away.

And then there’s Susan to worry about—her daughter, who surely is also crying in her room after yet another beating from her father. Hamilton knew about Susan and did nothing to help her, either. She cries at the thought, cries at the fact that a father of eight would ignore the daughter of someone he claimed to care for.

Both of them need to get out of there, and soon.

She racks her brain, trying to figure out who might take her in, who might take Susan in, but in the meantime, she has to get back, has to protect her daughter or at least comfort her. So she returns to the house, sits through James’s screaming and goes to Susan’s room to find her daughter curled up in the corner, sobbing silently. Always silently, and rocking back and forth.

Susan looks up and stops rocking, wipes her tears, pretends everything is okay, pretends and pretends and pretends and tries to keep her hands still, keep them still, keep them… or else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Maria wakes up to see her name all over the internet, a blog post having gone viral. “The Reynolds Pamphlet,” it calls itself, and it is ninety-five pages long.

Only one person could ever write ninety-five pages about _anything._

She screams, thankful that it’s just a high-pitched shriek and not a curse on Hamilton’s name. Susan comes running into her room, terrified, afraid she did something wrong, and Maria apologizes, over and over and over, and explains everything.

 _{{Dad is going to kill you}},_ Susan signs. _{{He’ll say that it’s your fault that his reputation is ruined.}}_

_[[I know.]]_

_{{And then he’s going to throw you out.}}_

_[[I know.]]_

_{{And then I’m going to be by myself.}}_

That’s when Maria decides she’s had enough.

_[[No, you won’t.]]_

A few phone calls later and Susan is on a trip to see Maria’s old friend Ciana and her partner Mariner (and their two cats). They understand; they take Susan in; they tell Maria that as soon as she’s figured out a way to get away from James and in a safe home that Susan can and should move back in with her. For now, the space would do Susan good—her environment had always been poisonous, and, to quote Ciana, “the only _quiet_ in this house will be that of those bluedo pseudo game of Cluedo hatemongering baloney-spouting trolls when our hands, which, for the record, will do whatever the gosh diddly darn heck they please, collide with their stupid ableist faces and knock their little jigsaw puzzle teeth out.”

“You can swear,” Susan says, trying to hide her giggles and failing miserably.

“I know I can,” says Ciana, “but let’s be real here, the phrase ‘gosh diddly darn heck’ is a whole lot funnier than any swears that I can come up with, and, for the record, it has nothing to do with the swear jar that’s in the windowsill, which is specifically used for when we swear at or about various bigoted turds.”

“That was your idea!” Mariner protests.

Susan laughs out loud this time, and Maria knows she’ll be okay.

Mariner leaves the room and announces that a friend of his, along with Aaron Burr—the man Hamilton had claimed was his “arch-nemesis” (as opposed to archenemy, because of course Alexander Hamilton had both) have both agreed to help Maria in the divorce process. Maria almost protests, but Ciana raises an eyebrow and she sighs, knowing that it’s well past time.

But in the meantime, she has nowhere to go. Ciana and Mariner don’t have the space and she has no friends, no relatives, nobody to help her.

“There’s a hotel a few blocks up that-a-way,” says Ciana, pointing in a general direction. “I don’t think that it’s too expensive.”

Maria nods, kisses her daughter goodbye, and walks out, promising to call when she’s safe.

Halfway there, it starts to rain. She has no umbrella, and no strength to keep walking—instead, she sits down on a bench, buries her head in her hands, and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here. This one is sort of different and I don’t exactly know what to say about it. Other than the fact that yes, Susan is autistic, and that I actually did the development of that on my own.  
> As always… y’alls know the drill.


	2. he will admit to everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it isn't made clear, the main "action" in this chapter takes place on the same day as the main action last chapter.

Alexander Hamilton is like fire. Stand too close, and people get burned.

Eliza learns this when the paper—the pamphlet—gets published, each word like a slap to her face, a whisper in her ear that she wasn’t enough, she was never enough.

It was bad enough that he cheated on her in the first place—but to write about it, to admit it, to tell the whole world of what he had done, to bring _her_ into the picture when she had never asked—that was the true blow to her heart.

Her children blink up at her, confused, not understanding what those pages and pages mean and how can she explain? How can she tell them what their father had done?

She can’t. She can never explain. Not when the children still follow Hamilton around like ducklings, not when their innocent eyes blink up at him, unknowingly, not when they beg him to just come away from the desk and have dinner, _please, Papa, please just eat with us, Mama misses you so—_

But she doesn’t, doesn’t miss him at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angelica tells her to leave him, to take the children and run. “It would be so easy,” Angelica says. “You can come live with me in London; you know the kids would love that.”

“I can’t,” Eliza says over and over and over, desperate to hold her family together, desperate to protect her children.

Angelica sighs, tells her sister that she is too kind for her own good, too gentle, that the Eliza she knew as a child would have never let a boy be so cruel to her. “Remember that time you slapped the boy who pulled your hair?” she reminds her. “That’s the Eliza I remember. Where did she go?”

“She grew up, Ange,” Eliza says sadly. “She grew up and got married and saw that one has to be a little less hotheaded to succeed.”

“Bullshit,” Angelica retorts, and then claps her hand over her mouth. “Tell me no one heard that.” Eliza shrugs. “I’m getting worried about you.”

And those five words are what breaks her, what reminds her how many times _she’s_ said them and never heard them in return. She runs out of the house, crying, not sure what to do or where to go.

She walks down the street in the rain, looking out at the streetlights, looking at the shining on the pavement, looking for a star that might tell her something hopeful.

Instead she finds a woman in a red dress, sitting alone on a bench, crying quietly and shivering.

She sits down next to her, silently. “What are you doing out here?” she asks.

“I could ask the same of you,” says the other, not looking up.

“Long story,” Eliza mumbles.

“How long?” the other woman asks.

“Ninety-five pages,” Eliza says bitterly, not even caring that the question was rhetorical.

The woman gasps. “Oh, _shit._ Sorry. Pardon me. Oh—oh, God, I’m sorry.”

They turn to each other, look at each other for the first time.

“Yeah, so says everyone,” Eliza mutters. She regrets the words instantly but hasn’t got the energy to apologize, instead staring at her hands.

“No—no, not like—”

And then she understands.

They look at each other again.

“With all due respect,” says the other, “but your husband is the worst, and I hate that I have to know that.”

“I take it you’re Maria, then,” Eliza sighs. “Why is it that I don’t feel like slapping you?”

“Because your husband is the worst, and we both know it,” Maria says simply. “And because at the end of the day, women have to stick together.”

“You’d like my sister,” Eliza muses.

They sit together in silence, each unsure of what comes next.

Angelica finds them a little while later, still side by side. Eliza is crying into someone else’s shoulder; that someone else is crying into Eliza’s hair, and they are whispering to one another inaudibly, murmurs of sorrow and support.

She has never seen Maria in her life, but she’s Angelica Schuyler and she knows. Her first desire is to march up to Maria and slap her, but then she sees how Maria is holding her little sister, the way Maria is almost rocking Eliza in a way she was sure Hamilton had never done, and she softens, walks up to them calmly and lays a hand on Eliza’s back, gently.

“I was almost hoping you two would find each other,” she muses. “Come on. I found a neighbor who can let us crash for the night. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a third.”

Eliza mumbles hi to Angelica, but only Maria can hear.

“Oh—oh, no, that’s fine,” Maria says hastily, assuming she’s in trouble despite Angelica’s words. “I can—”

“—Absolutely not,” Angelica says in that tone of voice that she’s had since the beginning of Eliza’s memory, the tone that signifies finality. “Come on. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out what the hell we’re doing. All three of us.”

“What about my daughter?” Maria asks. “She’s staying with some friends of mine…”

“We’ll find a way to take care of her too,” Angelica promises. “For now, let’s get inside.”

She pulls Eliza up, pulls Maria up, and they walk back down the street like sisters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here. Shorter chapter this time. Hope y’alls liked.  
> As always... same deal.


	3. where did I go wrong; I lost a friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not entirely sure when and how John and Hamilton met in this AU and/or why and how they part ways; that can be something you decide for yourself. I’ve also decided to basically ignore the existence of John’s historical wife and daughter in this one to keep things from being too complicated, and, while his historical siblings all do exist, I’m only paying attention to Mattie (historically known as Martha Laurens Ramsay). Also, yes, the name and gender of the final Hamilkid is different; I changed it so that Philip would be alive.

Alexander Hamilton is like fire. Stand too close, and people get burned.

John learns this early—but he doesn’t see he’s learned it until far too late, after so many years of chasing and chasing and chasing.

When Hamilton is near, he lives moment to moment, from one burst of time—in which the other stops, lingers, turns back—to the next, and those bursts are erratic and inconsistent and terrifying and  _ beautiful  _ and not.

The rest of the time, he is running, running after someone whom he didn’t realize was long gone long ago, until finally he is forced to stop, not by choice but by circumstance. They part ways, not sure when they will see each other again.

Only one of them cares.

A chance arises for them to meet again and John is ecstatic—but when he tries to text Hamilton there is no response. He tries again, again, tries emailing, tries calling, tries everything… but nothing.

At last, at long last, a response. They plan to meet—and Hamilton cancels last minute. They reschedule—and Hamilton has an emergency. They reschedule again, and again, and again, and again, and at that point someone else has to step in.

His sister literally plucks the phone from his hands and pockets it. “Don’t even say it,” she says, seeing the  _ What the hell was that for?  _ forming on his lips. “For God’s sake, Jack, it’s been what, three times now? Four?”

“Seven,” John mutters.

Mattie nearly screams. Instead, she sinks back onto the couch, burying her head in her hands in an expression of exasperation and frustration and anger and sorrow.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” she declares a few moments later, straightening up, pulling her hair back into a ponytail the way she does when she means business. “You have a choice. Either give up, and I mean actually give up, or march up to his doorstep.”

“That’s not fair,” John mutters.

“Tough shit, kid,” Mattie says flippantly.

“Why do I even let you boss me around?” John asks, inches from throwing in the towel. “You’re  _ younger  _ than I am.”

“Sure, by what, eighteen months?” Mattie retorts. “A year and a half is close to meaningless once you’re out of high school. And ha, you said boss me. You’re gonna do it.”

“I know I am,” he sighs.

He walks up to the doorstep—somehow Mattie knows the address; that girl spends too much time digging up dirt—and rings the doorbell, terrified.

Eliza opens the door and beams. “I was hoping you’d turn up soon,” she says, and she leads him inside. “Come on, there’ll be a drink with your name on it in about three seconds.”

“Oh—thank you—I was wondering if I could—”

“—What, see Alexander?” Eliza laughs. “Please. That man hasn’t lived here in months.”

“Yes, and it’s much more fun this way.” A smirking Maria pokes her head out from the kitchen. “The famous John Laurens, I take it?”

John is still shocked, eyes wide. “What do you mean? Where is he?”

“About two, three miles away,” Eliza shrugs. John winces. It seems almost blasphemous to treat Alexander Hamilton with such  _ casualty.  _ “I couldn't kick him too far to the curb; it wasn't like I was going to keep him from the kids.”

“But please don’t follow him,” Maria adds gently, almost begging. “You’ve spent too long doing that.”

A child pokes his head out, then another, then another and another and soon there are one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight kids slowly filling the hallway and looking at the stranger.

“The Clan Hamilton-Schuyler,” Maria says grandly, gesturing. “Kids, meet John Laurens. About time. “She quickly introduces each of them. “The one who poked his cute little head out first, that was Will.”

“I am not cute!” Will protests.

“Our Will with a strong will,” quips the kid to his right.

“Smart-aleck over there is Lex. Got a way with words, like their dad, but significantly less insufferable.”

John grins. It's nice when pronouns are adopted and used so easily.

“Oh, I'd call him insufferable,” a third snorts.

“That one would be Angie, who really is just like her namesake,” says Maria. “The big tall fella is Philip, whom you can always tell is approaching because he's either beatboxing or rapping under his breath. Those two are the first set of twins, JC and James.” Had Maria said nothing, John wouldn't have known they were twins as they look nothing alike.

“Are you the reason I have my name?” JC asks.

“Oh, I dunno,  _ John Church,  _ I wonder if there was someone else you might have gotten it from,” James replies without missing a beat.

“What, Aunt Angelica’s old husband? Oh, come on, he was boring.”

“Fair enough,” James admits.

Maria is holding back laughter. “And then the little tiny ones over there are the two youngest and the second set of twins, Eliza—whoops, sorry, love, Holly—and Nina.”

Holly and Nina look just as similar as JC and James look different, and they look like tiny Elizas. One of them lets go of her sister’s hand and walks up to him.

“Now that is something,” Maria marvels. “I don't think I've ever seen that happen before.”

“Seen what?” John asks confusedly.

“Nina’s usually so shy at first. Opens up and is a right chatterbox once you get to know her, but rarely—”

Nina hugs his leg, smiling up at him like they'd known each other forever. Maria sneaks a photograph. James snorts.

“Are you staying?” asks Nina.

“Nina!” Angelica chastises.

“Aw, Angie, lighten up,” James almost drawls. A few of the others laugh.

“Well?” Nina asks impatiently. “Are you?”

John looks around nervously, looks at the children, at Maria, at Eliza, and then down at Nina.

“How old are you, Nina?” he asks, smiling at her.

“I'm five!” Nina beams.

“Not yet, Nina! Our birthday is in a week,” Holly explains.

“That's close enough!” Nina protests.

John laughs and scoops Nina up. “Hmmm. I dunno. Is it close enough?”

“Will you stay?” Nina asks, and this time it sounds like an invitation.

“Oh—I have no idea if that's okay with your mother,” John stammers.

“Mothers,” Will corrects. “Maria’s our mother too. I don't really think you can be our dad, though. Sorry.” Lex snickers. “What’s so funny, Lex?”

“No, I think that's fine,” John laughs nervously. After all, he’s too gay to be associated with Maria and Eliza, and if he were to associate with Alexander, he’s pretty sure that Maria, Eliza and Mattie would form an alliance to stop him.

“You can be our uncle!” Nina declares. The other kids express agreement.

“John, you're welcome to stay with us,” says Eliza. “If you'll have us, we’ll be your sisters.”

Nina cuddles closer to him, silently begging him not to leave.

And then another child comes out, a girl around Angie’s age.

“Hey,” Maria says, quieter than before. The room instantly becomes quieter but not silent.

“Who’re you?” the new girl asks.

John is shocked and thrilled when nobody calls her rude, especially given the necklace that had been in her mouth but was now hanging around her neck like a normal necklace.

“This is your uncle John,” Maria says gently. “Chosen uncle. John, this is my daughter, Susan.”

John pulls his own necklace out of his pocket and winks. Susan grins broadly.

“I like him,” she says simply.

“Well, we were considering inviting him to live with us,” says Maria.

“Oooh, can you?” Susan asks.

“Looks like that’s four votes to remain,” says Maria.

“What are we, the UK?” asks James.

“No, we’re not, because we’re not a slim majority of racists screwing over the rest of the population,” Lex replies without missing a beat. “That being said, I vote remain.”

“Just for that shade, I’m voting remain,” says Angie. JC nods in agreement, shooting Lex a thumbs-up.

“Ha! Majority!” says Susan. “Seven out of eleven. Oh. Wait. No. You haven’t said you wanted to stay.”

John looks around again at the room. “What about the rest of you? Philip, Holly, JC, James, Will? You guys haven’t said if you want me to stay…”

“Nina likes you,” says Will. “If Nina likes you, and Susan likes you, you’re a good person. They always know.” Holly nods in agreement, as does James.

There is silence as everyone tries not to look at Philip, the only person not to have said anything yet, and everyone tries not to look at John, either.

“You’re my dad’s old friend, aren’t you?” Philip blurts out.

“Philip!” Angie chastises immediately.

“I met you once,” Philip continues, ignoring Angie (much to her chagrin). “When I was little, really little. There’s a photograph… well… there was one… I was in a little green thing that your other friend made for me…”

At this, John begins to tear up. Hercules and Lafayette had run off to New York barely having said goodbye. “I miss them,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Do you remember it?” Philip asks. “The photograph…”

John nods, slowly. It’s not a very strong memory, but he does remember.

And suddenly there’s an eighteen year old hugging him like there’s no tomorrow, and John isn’t entirely sure why, but he hugs back.

“My dad did some really stupid things… but at the very least, he’s an excellent judge of character. He knows who the best people are… for better or worse. I vote remain.”

“You’re better voters than the English,” John laughs. “I guess I’ll stay.”

The room lights up with smile after smile after smile. Nina jumps up and down. Susan flaps her hands in excitement. Will and Holly cheer. Angie nods approvingly.

“You’re part of our family now,” says Eliza, her voice like soft rain. And Eliza and Maria open their arms to him and pull him close, and someone—he can’t tell who—whispers “Welcome home.”

But it doesn’t matter who. Someone said it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update! There will be an epilogue.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the real Mariner. You know who you are. Thank you for helping me get through the hell that inspired this piece. <3  
> If anyone can tell me where the opening sentences come from, you get a prize. Not sure what it is though.


End file.
